


the only way a man can be free

by allyasavestheday



Series: les mis tumblr prompts [6]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pirate, Angst, Barricade Day, Desperation, Final Battle, Last Kiss, M/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-05
Updated: 2018-06-05
Packaged: 2019-05-18 02:08:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14843570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allyasavestheday/pseuds/allyasavestheday
Summary: “If we die today, we die free men. They cannot take that from us.” It’s an insistence he must believe lest all hope leave him.“A man in love is never free,” Grantaire says, gaze direct and clear, and the gnawing in Enjolras' bones has become a crumbling cavern, aching to be recognized.Through love is the only way a man can be free, Enjolras thinks desperately. The words die on his lips when the first cannon discharges, the explosion shattering the last remnants of calm surrounding them.





	the only way a man can be free

**Author's Note:**

  * For [geode](https://archiveofourown.org/users/geode/gifts).



> YIKESPEARE/geode requested: if you seriously want prompts? last desperate kiss before battle pls and ofc I'm thinking of exr pirates au
> 
> originally posted to [tumblr](http://g-taire.tumblr.com/post/173202140908/if-you-seriously-want-prompts-last-desperate-kiss)
> 
> i belatedly realised this could be a barricade day AU type thing, but I posted it a day early so. happy barricade day! 
> 
> title comes from myself/this fic

Just before dawn that morning, Feuilly estimated the Portuguese naval ship would be upon them in a matter of hours. With the winds in their favor, their corvette might have outpaced the frigate, but Fortune would not favor them this morning. Now, Enjolras’ eyes no longer need the aide of his glass, the other ship well within sight.

“Enjolras,” Combeferre says, a quiet murmur amidst the frantic shouting of  _The Corinth’s_  crew preparing for the inevitable. Enjolras turns to face his oldest friend, lips a firm line. Combeferre stands tall, his dark skin lit golden in the morning light. By all accounts, a beautiful morning awaits, were it not for the law bearing down upon them. “Feuilly says within the half hour.”

This much Enjolras already knows. They are just outside of firing range, the cannons astern ready the moment the other ship catches up. He grips his fingers into a fist at his side to stop their trembling. It didn’t matter how many ships they raided, how many times another crew tried to take them, how many times they prevailed; he is only human and his body betrays his fears. “The sails?“ Their ship was meant for speed, not battle with well-funded man-o-wars. As soon as the winds changed, they needed to be—  

“Ready.” Combeferre holds his gaze, knowing what Enjolras isn’t saying. Bahorel’s shout from the gundeck pulls their attention away from the silent conversation. The giant of a man is gesturing at them, and Combeferre takes off to handle this new development.

Enjolras turns his eyes to the sea. She has been calm the last few days, which is the only reason he can think of the Portuguese catching up with them. A tempestuous mistress to those who dared venture into her waters, she had provided for him thus far. They needed only a momentary change in tide, in the wind, and their tragedy might be avoided.

“We’ve no hope of besting them in battle,” a low voice says behind him.

“Does that mean we oughtn’t try?” Enjolras murmurs, inclining his head to the side as he feels Grantaire join him at the railing.

Grantaire is quiet for a long time, long enough that Enjolras shifts, pushing his shoulder against Grantaire’s. After a moment, Grantaire pushes back, and Enjolras smiles at bit, leaning into the point of contact.

“We were fighting a losing war,” Grantaire says, and Enjolras looks at him then. Shadows like bruises under his eyes betray his sleeplessness, though Enjolras is painfully familiar with his habits. “Our choices were bound to catch up with us eventually.”

“Our choices led to the freedom of every person on this ship, and countless others.” Enjolras has to bite his tongue to keep the fire out of his voice. Grantaire knows this; he owes his own freedom to those aboard  _The Corinth_ just as Enjolras does _._ What they did may have been illegal in the eyes of the law, but Enjolras could not abide by a law which would see him in chains, let alone those more helpless than he.

“Would you trade it for anything?” Grantaire asks suddenly, the words seeming to drop from his mouth like they burn his lips to speak them. His gaze is hard and direct on Enjolras now, and for the first time, his stare makes Enjolras feel small.

“When the choice was this or —“

“Not that. Never that,” Grantaire whispers. He reaches out and cups Enjolras’ jaw with a work-roughened hand. “We could have left this life, at any time. Taken up in Port Royal or Nassau, Christ, even Martinique, it’s half abandoned now. Anywhere. We might have lived our freedom instead of…” His expression crumples, and he pulls his hand away, taking a step back. Despite the heat of the sun quickly dissipating the cool morning air, he misses the warmth of Grantaire’s touch almost immediately.

“No man is free,” Enjolras eventually manages, studying the side of Grantaire’s ruddy face as he speaks. “Until every man is free.”  

The corner of Grantaire’s lip twists into something bitter. “You’re a good man, Enjolras,” he says, though the words can hardly be complimentary. His next are half laughed, half choked: “You deserve better.”

It is Enjolras’ turn to reach out and grasp the back of Grantaire’s neck, pulling him against his chest. Grantaire complies with little resistance, collapsing into Enjolras’s arms, and for a moment, though he can see the Portuguese bearing down on them still just out of firing range over the top of Grantaire’s wiry curls, something steadies in Enjolras’ chest, a yawning ache knitting itself closed in the cavern beneath his breastbone.

Standing there together, it is easy for Enjolras to imagine the fragile life Grantaire offered. Safe, away from the terrors they have lived, who could turn away from such a dream?

But the life he has built here, amongst their friends old and new, a life free of oppressive rule, unshackled to a ruinous society, he could not give that up. What they did breathed life into him, when once he thought all was lost.

In his heart of hearts, he knew he belonged to the sea. Saltwater sang in his veins, and one day he knew he would be taken from this life by the same forces which sustained him. The thought of abandoning this existence, leaving it for a quiet life void of adventure and rebellion is incomprehensible.

Still, Grantaire’s words have awoken some strange desire in him that he cannot shake, no matter how firmly he rejects it. They are not sprightly young men anymore; age, as well as the law, will one day catch up with them.

They have fought long and hard for their freedom and for the freedom of others. Surely, one day, they might find their rest. Surely they deserved that.

“Forgive me,” Grantaire murmurs into the crook of Enjolras’ neck, his breath ghosting over tender skin prickling hot and cold.

He pulls away, but keeps his hands on either side of Grantaire’s face, his thumbs tracing the stubbled line of his jaw. “Whatever for?” His eyes dart across salt- and wind-beaten cheeks, tries to meet Grantaire’s red rimmed eyes but is denied as Grantaire firmly studies Enjolras’ collar. Instead his attention settles on his lips, waiting for the words they would next form.

“My cowardice.” His voice breaks. “I have tried to be brave, as you are, but my spirit has never stood strong in the face of adversity, certainly not now, when I have left so much unsaid.” Eyes the color of low tide just before dawn meet his, and the gnawing in his chest reopens.

“You are more than the man you pretend to be,” Enjolras says firmly. A vice grips his throat, every unspoken word between them threatening to strangle with their unrealized potential. “At any time, you could have left us for the islands, but you stayed. And that means something, here, in this moment.”  _That means something to me_ , he doesn’t say, though he prays Grantaire hears it. Their heads are so closely dipped together that he can feel Grantaire’s every shuddering exhale. He wonders if Grantaire can feel the way his own body trembles.

They speak as if death is inevitable. Enjolras knows never to deal in absolutes, that nothing in life is a certainty, but he has seen grander ships than theirs burned in the open ocean by foes like the one moments from their reach. Shouting from the gun deck has reached a peak, and Enjolras’ instincts are screaming to launch into action, but he remains rooted where he is.

“If we die today, we die free men. They cannot take that from us.” It’s an insistence he must believe lest all hope leave him.

“A man in love is never free,” Grantaire says, gaze direct and clear, and the gnawing in Enjolras' bones has become a crumbling cavern, aching to be recognized.

 _Through love is the only way a man can be free_ , Enjolras thinks desperately. The words die on his lips when the first cannon discharges, the explosion shattering the last remnants of calm surrounding them.

In a matter of seconds, the air between the two ships is filled with the deafening boom of cannons and the screams of his crew. Someone yells his name, and he knows he must go to them, a ship needs its captain.  

“We need to go,” Grantaire says, though his fingers remain gripped in Enjolras’ sleeve.

A cannonball finally hits its mark, sending shudders through the wood of their ship, their home. Louison rushes past, three muskets clutched to her chest, and shouts something Enjolras can’t hear. Through the din he can only make out Courfeyrac’s voice screaming orders, and Bahorel’s booming laughter. His heart swells to see his friends ready with bared teeth and wide grins.

Everyone knows the price of freedom on his ship, and they are willing to fight for it.

He tears his eyes away from the chaos below, dark, steady hands coming up once again to cup Grantaire’s face, crushing their mouths together. Grantaire’s startled gasp is lost in the frantic press of lips and hands and breath.

He tastes of salt and the sticky sweet of sun-warmed rum, and Enjolras commits it all to memory, his tongue mapping out the curl of his lips as he smiles into the kiss.

The violence around them fades for just a moment, or perhaps a lifetime, and narrows down to the sensation of his mouth sliding against Grantaire’s, his skin rubbing raw against the stubble of Grantaire’s chin. It is furious, and their teeth clack together, and Enjolras tastes blood but none of that is nearly so important as being as close to Grantaire in these last moments could be.

The kiss is a hundred hellos and a hundred goodbyes and a hundred apologies but most of all it’s a hundred promises Enjolras fully intends to keep.

Another explosion rocks the ship, sending them stumbling against the rail. They break apart, breathless, and Enjolras realizes his cheeks are wet with tears. Grantaire looks up at him with something like undiluted awe, and when he speaks, his voice is rough and wrecked. “Enjolras,” is all he manages before another blast cuts him off.

Someone is shouting his name, but Enjolras doesn’t take his eyes from Grantaire. Clasping his hand, he brings their foreheads close together once again. “Come, my love,” he says. “We’ve our freedom to defend.”

**Author's Note:**

> ~~word of god says they live~~
> 
> Kudos/comments/critique are greatly appreciated :) 
> 
> I'm on tumblr at [girlionceknew](http://girlionceknew.tumblr.com) and [g-taire](http://g-taire.tumblr.com). Come say hi!


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